فصل 21

joana

Mornings held the promise of progress, dangling hope with thoughts of the next stop. We all fantasized of more than a barn. The shoe poet talked of grand manors owned by Junkers, wealthy East Prussian aristocrats. The countryside was dotted with their estates and we were bound to come upon one. Poet said he had visited one such manor house prior to the war and thought it was close by. We dreamed the wealthy family would take us in, ladle thick soup into porcelain bowls, and let us warm our frozen toes by the fire.

Poet walked around the barn, tapping the bottoms of people’s feet with his walking stick. The wandering boy followed. “Time to rise. Feet are strongest in the morning,” said the shoemaker. He arrived in front of me. “Still in fine shape, those boots. Any blisters?”

“No, Poet.”

I stood up and brushed myself off. “Is everyone ready to go?”

“The German deserter and the runaway Pole are gone,” he announced.

They all thought he was a deserter. My mind flashed to him snapping the identity card and letter from my hand. “I’m surprised he felt well enough to move on so early.”

“His boots were military issue, but modified,” said the shoe poet. He sighed, shaking his round head of white hair. “This war . . . do you realize that young people are fighting on tiny islands in the Pacific Ocean and marching through the deserts of North Africa? We are freezing and they are dying of heat. So many unfortunate children. The young Polish girl was exhausted. Her feet were swollen, rising like yeast buns in those boots. But sadly, it’s probably for the best. We don’t want them caught among our group. If my mind still serves as well as my feet, we’ll come upon the estate before nightfall. No one will let us in with a deserter and a Pole.”

“Of course it’s for the best,” said Eva. “A deserter and a Pole? I’m sorry, but they’ll be dead on the road in a day.”

“Oh my, you’re a blister, Eva. A sour little blister.” The shoe poet laughed and shook his walking stick at her.